


for all the places i have been

by weatheredlaw



Series: a thousand falling stars [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Memory Loss, Old Age, Old Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: “I have kept, and broken, a great many promises in my life. And I can’t predict the future, I got terrible marks in Divination.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is a follow-up to the sad memory fic i wrote last night and i'm really sorry about it

It feels odd to discuss their father _without_ her. No one has known him as long or as well as their mother or Uncle Theo, but they are both gone, now, and their father is the last Scamander of the old guard, steadfast in his methodologies, while his children have carved a new way. They are not so young themselves, anymore, and Rhys is already a grandparent three times over, his sister Ruth recently one herself. But they can’t put off the conversation any longer.

Newt Scamander has always been, to his children, a great pine – larger than life, steadfast against the currents and snows of the world. He is stubborn, a quality their mother railed against when she was alive, pushed herself up against like a wall of trees, and finally managed to break through. Without her, he is dormant, weathering the winter of living. Their father is still bright, not without that twinkle or a smile – but no one will pretend it is easy, without her.

It had been difficult, before she was gone, to watch the memory lapses or the gentle waves of silence. But Porpentina Scamander had known how to deal with them, and in the minds of her children, it would be she who saw their father to the end.

Losing her had been unexpected. Newt had not taken it well.

“He can’t _live_ at St. Mungo’s. That’s for…for _crazy_ people. Papa’s not crazy. He’s just…sad.”

“Well he can’t live _here_ ,” Ruth says, setting the tea kettle onto the stove. “Not on his own.”

“Have Margaret move here, she’s wanting to get out.”

Ruth scowls. “I’ll not sequester my daughter in this house with a lonely old man. She’s going to work for the Ministry, you know that.”

Rhys rests his chin in his hand. “I’m worried about him.”

“Yes, that’s why we’re _having_ this conversation, brother.” She hands him a cup of tea. “I had a thought. Yesterday.” She settles at the table. “What if…what if he came to live with me?”

Rhys straightens. “Would you mind that?”

His sister shrugs. “I dunno. It’s been…well it’s awfully lonely, you know. Maggie’s going, the boys are gone. Since Will died, it’s…”

Rhys covers his sister’s hand. “I know.”

“Papa doesn’t…he’s not long for this world, you know. I don’t think he’ll last much longer without mum. And besides, he—” Ruth startles, looking up and suddenly standing. “Papa.”

Newt leans against the door frame, watching them carefully before he comes into the kitchen. “Is there enough here for one more cup?”

“Of course,” she says, and sets about making one.

“No, no. I’ll…I’ll make it.”

“Papa—”

“I am _not_ so far gone as to be incapable of making _tea_ , my dear. I’ve been making it longer than you’ve been alive.” He ushers her back to her chair. “You are welcome to continue discussing my lifespan, you know. I’m not completely unaware.”

Rhys sighs. “We’re only concerned about you being here alone.”

“I’m not alone.” Newt looks over his shoulder for a moment and smiles. “I have never been alone, so long as I’ve lived in this world. Even before your mother, I’ll have you know that.”

“Hippogriffs don’t _count_ ,” Rhys says, and is brought back to the days of mucking out stables and capturing loosed billywigs. “You need people.”

“People are complicated. It’s why your mother and I did so well together. We understood that.” He turns and sets two cups onto the table. “We have always…oh.” He realizes what he’s done – filled his cup and Tina’s – and sighs. The look in his eye is rather distant, as it always is when he’s struggling with a memory or a thought. “Did I—” He looks up. “Mother _asked_ for tea, didn’t she?”

Rhys sets his jaw. “Mother has been gone for six months.”

“ _Rhys._ ”

“Well I’m tired of pretending everything is alright. Papa, you can’t live here on your own anymore.”

“I’m not alone,” he insists. “I have your—” He stops, rests a hand over his heart. “Well. I suppose I don’t anymore, do I?”

“You have _us_ ,” Ruth says, taking his hand. “You can come and live with me, papa. I don’t mind.”

“I won’t be an inconvenience—”

“You’ve never been,” Rhys murmurs. “Don’t act this way. You can’t fix this with tea and coffee, you know that.”

“No,” their father says. “You’re quite…quite right about that.”

 

* * *

 

They cannot decide what to do with their home in Dorset.

“It’s been left to us, when he dies,” Ruth says. “What are we going to do with the place, it’s not fit for a family.”

“It was fine for us.”

“Yes, but we grew up riding _graphorns_ in the backyard! The place is made for _Scamanders_ , not anyone else.” She snaps her fingers. “Rolf and Luna could take it. They’ve got the aptitude.”

“Rolf is angry with me.”

“Rolf is always angry with you because you’re _grumpy_ ,” Ruth mutters.

“He can’t take his children to the _Amazon_ ,” Rhys practically howls, only quieted when his sister shushes him.

“Papa is _sleeping._ ”

Her brother sighs. “Does he like it here?”

“No.” Ruth folds her arms over her chest. “He…he asks where she is all the time, now. I don’t think I should have taken him from Dorset. I should have hired someone from St. Mungo’s.”

“It’s not too late.”

“You think?”

Rhys takes his sister’s hand. “If you were father, where do you think you’d like to die?”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“We _must_ say it like that because it is a _reality_.”

Ruth sighs. “Home. I think he’d like to die at home.”

 

* * *

 

It is only in Dorset that Newt remembers Tina is no longer there. Sometimes, he forgets – makes one spare cup of tea, or sets one extra plate. But the nurse says this is rather normal for patients whose partners have gone.

“It’s a bit like missing a limb.”

“I liken it more to a missing ventricle,” Newt says quietly. “I may be daft but I’ve not gone _deaf_.”

“Yes, papa,” Rhys says. “We _know._ ”

Newt peers around his chair. “Have you patched things up with Rolf yet? It’s almost Hanukkah _and_ Christmas. We can’t celebrate without him.”

“I won’t receive advice on good parental relationships from _you_ ,” Rhys bites back, earning a hearty jab in the side from his sister. “ _What?_ ”

“Now isn’t the time for you to be _bitter_.”

“About being _robbed_ of a childhood?”

“We were not _robbed_ , you dolt. You always look at things half-empty.”

“And _you_ wear rose-tinted glasses.”

Their father snorts. “A war of the clichés.”

Ruth sighs. “Hush, old man.”

“As if the two of you are so young yourselves.”

Rhys goes into the sitting room – the nurse has excused herself, disappeared as yet another Scamander family feud seems to blow in from the south. “I was robbed. Dragged all over the place, looking for dragons and fighting war after war. The two of you weren’t content to leave it out there, were you? Had to drag it into the bloody living room—”

“Your mother was a soldier, we couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening—”

“Plenty of people got to sit by and watch—”

“ _Scamanders_ do not sit by and _watch_ —”

“And look where that got Uncle Theo! Look where it got you, and mum! Broken and half-dead, you don’t remember that? You don’t remember sitting in the hospital, waiting for her to die?”

“Did she?” Their father stands. “You seem to have a problem with remembering things yourself. No one made your mother fight. And no one forced me to join her. We _protected_ you, as we promised.” Newt points. “You weren’t so upset about dragons when you were a boy.”

“I saw men die,” Rhys murmurs. “You let me see that.”

“You were always going to. Grindelwald spared no soul. Voldemort either. I am sorry for bringing you into a world of trouble, but I don’t see you faring any worse for it.” He picks up his cane and waves a hand. “I’m not going to apologize again.”

 

* * *

 

Later, when Ruth’s forced him to sit and calm down, Rhys goes out to the stables to find his father.

“Come to mourn your lost innocence?”

“No.” Rhys bows as he had always learned to, and one of the ‘griffs bows back. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

“Well. So am I.” Newt turns. “I know you miss your mother. I know it’s…hard, without her. And I know I don’t make things easy.” He lowers his head. “You know I looked all over for her this morning. Couldn’t…couldn’t figure out _why_ she’d gone. It’s a bit like losing her all over again, you see. Remembering each time.”

“I’m sorry, papa.”

“I didn’t take you with me to traumatize you. I took you because…because I thought you might be safer. We had to split everyone up. Ruth was too young, you were just old enough. Mother was worried about bombs and Grindelwald on top of it.” Newt shakes his head. “I know it was never easy, and I know we…we made some wrong choices—” He looks up. “But of all the things I’ve forgotten, those weeks with you remain with me.” He glances at his son. “Vividly, Rhys. I hope you know that.”

“I do, too, papa.”

“I know I was…difficult to be with, when you were a boy.” Rhys snorts. “Alright, I’m _always_ difficult to be with.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Please don’t let my failures color your relationship with Rolf. I know you’re angry he followed in my footsteps—”

“He made his choice,” Rhys says quietly. “And he’s quite successful.” He looks at his father, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m proud of him. I’ll…I’ll go and call him tonight.”

Newt nods. “Good. And bring him ‘round. He should have the house, when I’m gone. It served me well.”

“It’s a good house,” Rhys agrees. “It should have a family in it again.”

“Your mother did love Luna.”

Rhys nods. “Mother loved everyone.”

Newt laughs. “I’m proof of that.” He takes his son’s hand in his own. “I am a lucky man. And I have lived well. Thanks especially to you, and your sister.”

Rhys swallows. “If you forget us—”

“I will not. I promised your mother that I would never.”

“You can’t keep something like that.”

“Well.” He straightens himself and begins heading back to the house. “I have kept, and broken, a great many promises in my life. And I can’t predict the future, I got terrible marks in Divination.” He glances over his shoulder. “But I will not forget you, my boy. I won’t ever leave you behind.”

And suddenly – Rhys is fourteen, standing in the woods with his father, their faces streaked with dirt as they sprint through the forest. He is slower that Newt, slower than he should be, and so _tired_ , so afraid his father will be too fast for him, forget him in the forest –

_I will never leave you behind. Not ever, my boy._

“Rhys? Are you alright?”

“Of course, papa.” He takes his father hand and walks with him back into the house. “I’m quite alright.”


End file.
